


Lost Children and Vicious Beasts

by Oblivian03



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, He is reckless though, Pre-Thor (2011), There's a little blood because of it, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26910145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oblivian03/pseuds/Oblivian03
Summary: Thor is late for a royal event and crosses the path of a lost child. This leads to a brief adventure with more danger than some might wish for and choices some wish he would not make.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Lost Children and Vicious Beasts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own anything Marvel related nor can claim anything to do with Norse mythology as my own. 
> 
> Note: gets a bit more drabble-esque towards the end.

He was late. The skies were wet, the leaves were wetter, and he was late to his mother’s public speech that would kick off the revelries marking the opening of a new grand theatre. The hunt had gotten away from him, both figuratively and literally. The Prince’s blood had sung with the thrill of a chase which had promised battle, a fledgling storm fixing his senses to that heady present alone.

Half a day had been spent tracking. A glimpse of fur and a bright eye had been his reward. The crack of a branch and the chase had begun, swift and reckless, through stream and underbrush until the storm had increased tenfold and felled a tree between the Prince and his quarry. Now the beast was gone, and he was late with nothing to show for it. 

Thor swore and wiped his face, less angry at the rain than his own foolishness.

Loki would mock him endlessly for his mistake, he knew. His father would voice his disappointment, but his mother would be the worst, her own disappointment kept quiet and hidden save for a gentle rebuke. It was her understanding that burned Thor the most. Or perhaps it was her lack of it – so often in his childhood she had explained away his restlessness and escapades into the wild as boyish youthfulness that would one day subside, never quite understanding his need for movement and open space and how alive each storm made him feel.

There was little that could truly describe them, the storms that wracked the realms. Less words he himself had than all the poets and wordsmiths from Alfheim to Nilfheim. Storms were big and strong and powerful, like the flex of muscle behind a crushing blow or a gentle grasp that could yet break stone. They were fierce and unrelenting, enduring until their very essence was spent. Rain fell and trees trembled. Thunder boomed and mountains quaked. There was a primordial force to them, and it stoked the primal thing in Thor, the thing his father cursed, and his mother, and General Tyr on the training grounds. Rain could crescendo to its electric climax and Thor would be there screaming with it if only the world allowed. Or else he would fade with the quieting winds, dissipating like the clouds above until the only thing left was the raw flesh of him.

The Prince found his running cease step by step until he stood with his face tilted towards the sky, eyes closed and breaths even. The urgency of his lateness seemed to fade a little in the cold caress of the rain.

A tug at the hem of his tunic brought the Asgardian abruptly back to himself. 

“Can you help me?”

Thor looked to the source of the voice that had queried him so. There at his side two big brown eyes blinked up at him, cheeks wet with rain and perhaps something else as well.

“Well met, little one,” Thor greeted. The lips beneath the brown eyes trembled.

The Asgardian turned, unconsciously hunching over the child so as to stave off some of the rain. His lips pulled into a smile, one that was less teeth than reassuring warmth. In one hand he had been carrying a hunting spear and he now placed the butt of it against the ground to lean on. Thor appraised the child before him.

“You are a fair way from home I would wager,” he said at last, “What adventures have brought you to this part of the-”

“My brother is lost,” the child cut in, then seemed to bite their tongue. The child’s eyes flitted away from Thor’s, small hands clenching reflexively.

The child was young, too young to have been wandering the forest alone. Beyond this, it was impossible to tell anything else. They wore trousers and a large, shapeless tunic in a gray that made the harsh cut of their short hair seem harsher. Between this and the mud that covered them, any distinguishing features were lost to Thor’s eye.

“Your brother?” he prompted.

“His name is Halstein,” the child said. “We came exploring but now I can’t find him though I’ve looked and looked and looked.” The youth hesitated, then continued in a smaller voice, “Mama does not know we left.”

The abashed tone of those words reminded Thor of the many adventures he had embarked on with his brother, their mother unknowing and they themselves thinking watchful Heimdall knew not too. His thoughts drifted to his mother and then her speech, to the dancers yet to dance and the singers yet to sing, to his father’s frown as he commanded the ceremony begin without his eldest son there. Thor’s hand tightened around the wooden shaft of his spear.

“Please, you are a hunter. You can find him before-” The child looked down, wringing their hands, unable to bring themselves to finish. Thor sighed.

“Where did you last see your brother?” he asked.

A small gasp escaped the child and wide eyes darted up to the Prince once more. “Deeper in the forest where it’s all dark and you can’t far see past any of the trees,” the child quickly answered, as though afraid Thor would change his mind. “Near the cave where the great old boar snuffles among the roots and bones of his thousands of kills.”

Thor stove off a grimace. Childish exaggeration or not, there _was_ rumour of a nasty boar in the west part of the forest. Several months before, it had allegedly flayed the forearm of an experienced hunter open to the bone. Eir had not confirmed whether the rumour had seen life in her healing halls but his father had since decreed only warriors were to traverse those grounds. “You are certain?” the Prince asked.

“Aye! We wanted to get a glimpse of the great big lout ourselves, only the storm started, and we got separated and I got lost and then I found you.”

Thor inhaled, letting the distant rumble of thunder settle in his bones, steadying him. “Then deeper into the forest I shall go.”

The Asgardian Prince straightened his back. The child shivered as the rain fell upon them once more. Blue eyes contemplated the youth as hands hefted a spear back over a shoulder.

“Do you know your way out of the forest from here?” Thor asked. The child shook their head and Thor spoke again, “What is your name?”

“Ysra.”

“Come then, Ysra. See this tree and the arrow carved upon it?” Thor gestured to a birch nearby and the deep wound its trunk bore from a steel-edged blade. “Such marks can be found on many such trees near the perimeter of the forest. They point the way back home for hunters in the dark and are all found on birch trees with pale bark every fifty strides or so from each other. Do you think you could find the other marked trees on your own?”

The child nodded.

“Run back to the forest’s edge,” he commanded the youth, “Follow the arrows and you shall find it soon enough. Then find a guard stationed in the nearby town and tell them that Thor goes west to the old caves that lie there.”

Ysra repeated the words, looking to Thor for his confirmation they were right. At his nod, the child took off and Thor turned back the way he had come, only a little more westward facing.

He began by examining the vegetation near where he stood. The rain had washed Ysra’s footprints away, but it dripped like blood from the broken branches and crushed shrubbery of the path the child had no doubt crashed through.

Unwinding the red sash around his waist, Thor tied it to the nearby branch of a birch. Though Asgard’s soldiers were apt trackers, trained so by their fearsome elders, the sash would serve as a blatant sign to mark the path their eldest Prince had taken. In as urgent a search as this was to be, Thor did not think the effort unwarranted.

Next, he strode forth, spear held up and away from the traces Ysra had left. His own feet were carefully placed, swift and sure. They paused for a moment by a particularly flattened patch of seedlings that gave a direct line of sight through to where Thor had been standing not long before. Here Ysra must have paused, mustering the courage to approach him.

Thor himself did not pause long, moving onward to where a scrap of grey threads had been snagged by a bramble and further beyond to where a young tree’s branch had been snapped at a child’s shoulder height. So the signs kept appearing, guiding the Asgardian for a fair distance through the forest.

At one stage, the path doubled in upon itself then circled thrice around the same rock formation, a clear indication of how lost Ysra had been. Snagged cloth threads and a few strands of muddied hair set Thor in the right direction once more, eventually leading to the first sign of another person – a green scrap of cloth, no doubt from a shirt, about the height a young boy’s shoulders might be. 

This new trail occupied Thor for a while longer, drawing him further west and deeper into the forest’s heart. At least it did until it seemed to vanish in the crossing of a clearing that was more stone than dirt. Thor checked the perimeters and a short distance beyond them, but it led to naught. All footprints having been washed away in the rain, there was nothing else there to guide him.

Thor moved on. Ysra had mentioned the caves and now they were as good a place as any to start, close as they were to where the trail ended.

Through the dense underbrush the Prince raced once more, another chase spurring him on, though this one was less thrilling than his earlier hunt. The rumours of the boar were just rumours as far as he knew, but there was more than enough weight behind them to make him worry for the health of the lost boy. Besides, there were other beasts that stalked the woods of Asgard. Bilgesnipes were not known for their kindness and, while Thor adored snakes, they too could be fickle, deadly creatures.

Time would not be on not on his side. Nor were the odds of finding the lost child at the caves. Yet, there was little else to go on. Loki could have conjured a spell of sorts to trace the paths once trodden by smaller feet, but Thor had no such skill with spells. What he knew was the sweat of exertion and the feel of solid ground beneath his feet, the sting of branches that whipped against his face and the will that drowned out the sting.

Thunder rumbled again, closer now as the storm surpassed its fledgling state. The clouds overhead were heavy and dark, darker than they had been before. The wind was picking up, pushing against Thor’s back and elongating his steps with its sheer force. By some miracle not once did he slide in the mud.

Harried so, it took less time than would be marked by half an Asgardian hour for Thor to reach the first pair of caves that marked the true boundary of the western part of the forest. The wind did not ease, and a great oak creaked beside him as he stopped. The Prince ignored it, his eyes instead scanning the scene before him. Nothing indicated there was life there save for several hares huddled in the mouth of the smaller cave.

“Halstein,” Thor called, his deep voice cutting through the storm. When no answer came, he strode forward and stuck his head into the smaller cave, spear now held by his side ready should the need for it arise.

The cave proved nothing more than a shallow shelter. Its larger companion was much the same. Cursing, Thor withdrew, flitting his eyes to the trees around.

“Halstein!”

Naught but the rain made sound in answer, save a rock knocked loose by the now cowering hares. Cursing again, Thor set off to search the caves beyond.

This too proved futile. No cave, small or large, held a boy within its rocky walls. Most were too shallow to hide any secrets, others caved in a while before. One was too flooded for him to even attempt a search and Thor prayed a corpse did not float in such a watery grave. All the while the wind pressed against him, urging him on from where he stood just as it urged the uprooting of lesser trees.

Fighting against it, Thor went on, making for the most complex series of caves he knew.

His path brough him up along the edge of a steep descent, not quite a cliff or hill but enough of a slope to make him cautious nonetheless. Further along, one muddied edge appeared to have collapsed and a deep furrow carved its way down from that point. This caught Thor’s eye and he crouched by it. The furrow looked rather like someone small had slipped and fallen, and somehow Thor knew it had been made by the one whom he sought.

With renewed energy, the Asgardian leapt to his feet and launched himself down the slope himself. The ground was slick beneath him, but his feet were as sure and swift as ever. Reaching the bottom, he followed the mud splattered leaves and trunks that led from the furrow’s end.

Large though he was, Thor could move in near silence if he wished. His heart was beating in his chest, but it was the steady thrum that graced a hunter when their chase was drawing to a close. The heady rush of thoughtless pursuit had left him and now Thor’s thoughts were turned to how best to approach the child when he found them. The Prince did not want to startle the boy who may be injured and was probably frightened already. It would not do to have the child try to run from him in fear.

The trail he followed wove an unsteady path. No noise sounded but the patter of rain around him and Thor realised the forest was strangely still. Not even the uncommon motion of a hapless bird shaking its feathers amongst the branches of a thicker tree could be glimpsed. A chill settled upon him, raising the hairs along his arms and neck. The Asgardian tensed, his shoulders setting in a firmer line and the spear now held ready in his hand.

Creeping forward, Thor scanned his surrounds. His eyes could make out a clearing through the trees and this he fixed his sights on with trepidation. His breaths fell soundlessly into the air, his nose wrinkling as it caught the scent of something rotten. His steps came more carefully. Even the rain seemed to grow quiet as he moved.

Something crunched beneath his boot and Thor looked down to see the remains of a small bird’s skull. More bones laid strewn around the clearing and the fringes of the trees that encompassed it. None were Asgardian shaped, however, nor were any of the few fresher corpses that of a boy. This brought Thor some relief, though it did nothing to quell his unease.

Several reckless flies buzzed around of a wild dog large enough to match a well sized child. Its flank and belly were torn open and the smell was unpleasant. The hapless creature did not look like it had been a meal for more than the maggots, but whatever had killed it was vicious indeed.

Stepping out of the trees’ cover, Thor took in the clearing. It was a fair size and at the other end sat the mouth of a deep cave with stone spilling from it like an overlong tongue. Halstein was not in obvious sight, but the Prince knew in his bones the boy was there.

Thor drew himself up to his full height, save for a slight bending of his knees. He moved the spear so it was almost horizontal to the ground, point tipped downward and shaft resting on his right shoulder.

“Halstein,” he called, ready for whatever would answer him, be it beast or boy.

A moment passed and then his answer came with the voice of a boy pitched high and thin.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Thor,” the Prince said in return. “I met your sibling, Ysra, earlier who asked me to seek you for fear you had gotten lost and stumbled into the lair of the old boar that is said to inhabit these parts.”

“Was my sister well?” Halstein asked.

“Aye, though she looked a fright and had been lost herself,” Thor answered, eyes scanning for the source of the child’s voice. He found it in a small clump of bushes nearby, a pale face peering out at him between the gaps in the leaves. “Are you injured?”

“No, except for some scrapes and bruises.”

“Then will you not come here so we might leave back to your parents,” Thor said.

The boy shook his head and Thor frowned, stepping forward with a heavy step that broke another poor creature’s bones. There was a sound from the cave, a sort of clatter and echoed snort, and a shadow flitted across the cave’s entrance. Thor halted, hand tightening around the spear.

“The boar is asleep in there,” Halstein told him, “It was awake when I found this place, though did not see me before I managed to hide.”

“Did you not think to leave while it was gone?” Thor said, his voice softer now and one eye trained on the cave’s mouth.

“I did,” Halstein replied, “And I went to stand soon after, but-” The boy drew in a shaky breath. “A bird alighted in front of the cave and began trilling as it preened itself. The boar heard and charged it and trampled it to death. I’ve been too scared to move since.”

These last words were said with shame. Thor drew his lips into a thin line, though it was not because of this. “Perhaps that was for the best then,” he said, though as a boy he no doubt would have moved, if only to get a close look at the beast. “There are not many who can outrun a charging boar.” He paused. “Do you think it safe enough to move now?”

Halstein drew in a sharp breath but did not answer. Thor fought back the urge to sigh and gave a reassuring smile instead, though it was underlaid by the seriousness of the rest of his expression.

“We cannot remain here in this clearing forever,” he said as he decided what course of action to take. “You will come to me for you are smaller and less likely to make noise in this bone filled place, and then we will trace my steps backwards and leave the beast in peace. If it wakes, I will fend it off while you find a tree and climb it.”

“You have not seen his size. The boar is huge! He will tear you into pieces!” the boy cried, though softly.

“Not so.” Thor patted his spear, fingering the two short bars set either side of the staff not three finger widths below the blade. “This is a hunting spear, and these are lugs made to keep such beasts away when a hunter has them rightly pinned. Your fiend shall not wound me today.”

“I-”

“Can you climb a tree?” Thor asked. The boy nodded. Thor smiled in return, a brighter, more blinding thing than his first. “Then there is nothing to fear while I am here. I will not let the beast do you harm, I swear it.”

Halstein hesitated but for a moment. His options were clear to him and following the commands of Thor was better than staying stuck in the bush forever.

The boy dashed to his rescuer. Thor stepped to meet him.

A branch snapped in the wind that was still blowing, having already been half dangling from a tree, and it clattered against the mouth of the cave with an echo as loud as thunder. 

Both Asgardians held their breath.

There was a squeal from the bowels of the cave. Then the faint but ominous sound of movement coming towards them.

“Climb the tree. Now.” Thor’s tone brooked no argument and the boy did as bidden. The older Asgardian was already turning to face the boar, a snarl fixed on his face.

It emerged just as Halstein’s grunts of effort signaled he had begun to climb. Thor made to shout so the creature’s attention was drawn to him, but cruel, beady eyes had already found the point of his spear and the face of the one who held it. 

The boar was huge. Thor was considered tall, even among his own people, and the beast’s shoulders stood well past his hips. Its broad body was a wall of muscle, its hide thick with scars. From its snout protruded two tusks and it was these that gave Thor pause.

Most wild boar had tusks, but the Asgardian Prince had seen none so large in all his long life. They also made it easy to see why Halstein was so frightened. The size of the boar alone would have been enough to halt any boy with sense, but its tusks were wickedly cruel. They sprang out of its mouth and curved to a dangerous point that could cause any person a serious degree of harm. They were also near the length of Thor’s forearm and would serve well in keeping would be assailants away from the beast’s head.

Thor dropped the spear from his shoulder to his side, holding it level and parallel to the ground. Its point was fixed unerringly on the foe before him.

The boar tilted its head until its tusks touched the ground. Then, with a shriek, it charged. Sparks were thrown where bone scrapped against stone and Thor dove out of the way as the beast swung its head back up. Rising out of a roll, the Asgardian thrust his spear towards one beady black eye.

With surprising swiftness, the creature turned and caught the weapon in the curve of one tusk. It made to jerk its head back in the other direction and Thor growled. He released the spear to save the shaft from breaking, but the action saw it thrown to the other side of the clearing. Thor rolled again to avoid the tusks himself, drawing a knife with the blade pointed down. When the boar charged a third time, he threw himself aside and forward and slashed at the leg that passed him.

There was a squeal as the boar lurched right and Thor finished his roll to the left. The Asgardian leapt to his feet and threw himself at the creature’s haunch. It staggered more but did not fall as Thor had intended. Knife arcing downward, he cut deep into the muscle and continued towards its belly. The boar stomped down and found Thor’s foot. The Asgardian swore as something in his foot gave, himself taken off balance, and the boar shoved its weight against him sending him stumbling.

Half a moment later found Thor on his back, struck down by the bulk of the beast that had rammed him with its side.

The Prince threw his hands up, catching the boar’s tusks before they could gouge his face. He wrestled it with a low growl, stone scrapping across his back as the boar dragged him about. The rain was blinding from Thor’s new position, seeming half set on drowning him as he panted. He spat it out and bared his teeth. With a brutal twist the Asgardian forced the boar’s head to the side, but it followed his momentum and used it to land its body across Thor’s chest.

Thor gave a short cry. Severely winded, his grip loosened and the boar tore away.

Aware of the situation’s urgency, Thor tried to draw in a deep breath. He failed but for a shallow gasp, pain spiking along his ribs. Nonetheless, he forced himself up. The stone was slick beneath the soles of his boots and he used this as extra leverage to launch himself off the stone and into a full-tilted run through the mud, the spear fixed firmly in his sights. 

Three strides in and the Prince heard something heavy move behind him. Five more leaping steps and there came the sound of bone scrapping against stone. Thor dove across the remaining stretch of land, tumbling head over heels with a fervor that his ribs protested. He finished in a kneel, the spear held firm in his hands.

“Come on!” he roared at the bloodied beast across from him. 

The boar came.

With unerring accuracy, Thor set his spear against the muddied ground. Its head was angled up, blade dripping from the rain. Mud dripped from Thor, too wet and thin to cling to more than the clumped strands of his hair.

The sight of him did not deter the boar. Like an upended boulder it ran, gaining more speed the closer it drew. Thor readied himself and jerked his spear up as it entered his reach, but the creature neatly sidestepped and ducked its head under Thor’s right arm. Too swiftly for the Asgardian to react, it jerked its own natural weapons up, catching the underside of his forearm left uncovered by his vambrace and forcing the arm away from the spear.

Thunder crashed as Thor dropped to an elbow and kicked out at the boar’s head. His foot connected, driving the boar sideways and away from him. His arm was sliced further still but not as deeply as it might otherwise have been. The Prince lashed out again, foot catching the stunned boar’s head once more and pinning it with his heel. His other leg drew back and stomped forward through the air, all the wrath of Mjölnir’s wielder channeled in that single movement.

Two cracks echoed through the air. The first was lightning overhead. The second was the breaking of a tusk. It fell to the mud with a sad squelch.

The boar squealed and threw its body up, dislodging Thor before it wheeled and ran back across the clearing. Thor, for his part, rolled into the momentum the move caused him, going up and over his shoulders to land on his injured foot. It ached along with his ribs, but Thor gritted his teeth and ignored both. The blood from his wounded arm had made the shaft of the spear slick, so he gripped it all the tighter as he knelt. The Prince looked across the clearing to where the beast stood and grinned.

“Well?” he cried, “Have at it!”

The boar’s beady black eyes were alight with fury. It squealed and rushed him again, tusk tilted down in preparation for a gouging swing. Thor stayed his ground, knee and foot planted firmly beneath him. His hands were steady where they gripped his spear. The Asgardian breathed.

The storm breathed with him.

In the space of a moment, the violence cumulated into its grisly end. The boar’s mad dash carried it over the head of Thor’s spear and Thor swiftly dealt his blow, sliding the blade up into the creature’s heart. Thunder crashed overhead. Somewhere to his left the boy cried out. Thor grimly held onto his weapon as the boar flailed and writhed and tried to drag itself further along the shaft in rage. Yet, the spear was well made and its lugs did not give beneath the onslaught. Soon enough the boar stilled, dead.

Thor did not move for a while longer until his breath was no longer heaving in his chest.

“You killed him!” A small weight hit the Prince’s side, invoking a wince and the tightening of small hands around cloth. Halstein peered past Thor’s bulk, wide eyed and nose wrinkled. “Why does it stink?”

“Because he is dead.” Thor considered the boar’s corpse for a moment before turning to look his wayward charge over for injury. “Are you injured?”

The boy shook his head, expression turned somewhat abashed. “I am not hurt, but you are bleeding.” 

Thor looked at his arm where it was coloured scarlet by the blood still gushing from the wound. As with the mud, it was thinned by the rain, a strange mix of warm and cold against his skin. His ribs ached. So too did his back which was no doubt scratched up from the stone, and his foot protested still where he crouched upon it.

The Prince undid his vambrace and the cloth that sat beneath it. Then he rewound the cloth back around the wound, reaching down to undo the drawstrings of the leather pouch he carried on his belt. From there he pulled another fold of cloth and bound this too about his arm. Thor watched for a moment to ensure no blood would seep through and then, when it did not, replaced his vambrace back around the rough bindings to better hold them in place.

Standing, Thor grinned at the boy and ruffled his sopping hair. “Find my knife,” he said, “It should be by the entrance of the cave.”

Halstein nodded and scampered off. Thor turned back to the boar. He winced internally at the thought of having to lift it, but it would not do to leave such a worthy foe to a slow decay brought forth by the elements and scavengers. Besides, the boar would make for a good feast. Its soul would be sent off in style.

Still, not wanting to attempt the lift until he had to, Thor turned his gaze to the ground around him. Eyes alighting on the broken tusk, he bent to pick it up and weighed it in his hands.

“Here’s your knife.” Halstein appeared back beside him, the object held carefully in his small hands.

“You have my thanks,” Thor said, taking the knife from him and wiping it on his trouser leg before replacing it in its sheath. “And here is something for you to keep as proof of the tale that has unfolded here.”

He relinquished the tusk to the boy, hesitating but for a moment to ensure Halstein could take its weight. The youth’s face went slack with awe. He held the tusk reverently against himself, looking to Thor with wide eyes.

Thor smiled at him before bending back down to the dead boar. With a grimace he steeled himself, ignoring the protest of his ribs and arm as he heaved the creature onto his shoulders. He paused in that position, allowing himself a moment to overcome the dizziness that came with the inevitable pain. Then he rose slowly, standing and waiting again before he took a tentative step forward. His ribs protested, as did his injured foot, but his resolve held and his strength did not falter.

Thor smiled to himself.

Yes, his ribs were sore, but he doubted they were broken else he would not have been able to stand as he did. Likewise, he was almost certain that, if bruised, they were not deeply so. This was welcome news, though less welcome was the thought of the trek back to the town beyond the forest’s edge where he had sent Ysra to alert the guards.

Never one to shy from a hard task, Thor began the walk with Halstein dogging his heels. With a little prompting, the boy began to chatter, keeping Thor’s attention on something other than his pain and growing weariness. Red dripped from his right elbow every so often as blood mixed with the rain, but the flow was infrequent and slow enough that Thor did not see the need to worry just yet.

How long they walked, Thor could not say. Certainly, it was long enough that he had begun to consider the chance they might need to make camp that night for which the boar’s meat would prove useful if the rain let up enough for him to start a fire. Halstein was shivering and Thor felt himself do the same, the exertion of the fight and lugging the boar about taking its tole on him.

_Perhaps we need to stop sooner, seek shelter from this-_

“Oh!” Halstein stopped short beside him, voice small and coloured by surprise.

Thor looked up from beneath his burden and grinned at the sight of bright Asgardian armour coming towards them.

“Well met!” he cried.

“Well met yourself, my Prince,” the captain cried back, a stout soldier by the name of Brynjar. His helmet covered most of his brow, but his eyes did not look pleased beneath its shadow.

As the guards drew closer, Brynjar gestured for them to take the boar’s corpse from Thor. The Prince relinquished his prize gratefully, going to straighten but finding his aching ribs would not allow him to complete the action. Perhaps it had not been wise to carry the boar after all. He flashed another smile at the captain.

“Did Ysra send you on your way?” he asked, “Your timing is most fortuitus.”

“If by Ysra you mean the girl who told us you had sent her to advise you were going to the west part of the forest, then yes,” Brynjar said shortly. “You are wounded.”

“Not severely,” Thor replied. “Though the boar put up a good fight. Halstein came away safe enough and now we only have to return him home.”

The captain looked over at the boy who was being questioned softly by another guard. Brynjar cocked his head at the broken tusk the boy clutched. Thor caught the look and grinned.

“The creature put up a good fight,” he repeated, “But it was no match for me in the end.”

“So I see,” Brynjar said, “Reckless as it was to pursue the creature as you did.”

“I pursued the boy, not the creature. It simply was a hap stance of fate that I found both together.” 

“By your father’s own decree none but warriors were to go into this part of the forest,” Brynjar snapped.

“Aye, and I am a warrior, am I not?” Thor laughed. “Unless you wish to tell General Tyr that all his hard work spent training me for battle was for naught. As for the children, their fancy shall take them to game and danger as it wills, and I think both have learnt enough to heed warnings of old boars in the future.”

“I think their parents will have words for them still,” Brynjar said, “As I think your father will have words for you. To hunt boar alone is foolish, let alone a boar so wicked as that one. Not even the most experienced of hunters would have set off on this venture with nothing save some thin hope that Heimdall would see you.”

“Heimdall sees all,” Thor said. “His eyes and ears have not failed me yet.”

Brynjar bristled. “If you recall, it was not he but a girl who alerted us to your situation.”

“Aye, because I asked her to. He would have seen if I had need of him.”

“Lord Heimdall has more to attend than just one foolhardy son of Odin.”

“This foolhardy son of Odin could not see the worth of leaving a child alone against that beast or any other that stalks this forest. By the time I had sought aid and returned with company, he might have well been dead!” Thor snapped and thunder rumbled above them long and loud. 

There was quiet for a moment, none daring to speak in the wake of their Prince’s anger. Then Bryjar sighed, flicking his eyes down again to assess what injuries he could see on the younger warrior.

“Can you walk back to the town?” he asked, “We can then send for transport to take you back to the palace.”

“The palace is not far from the town,” Thor answered, “I will be fine walking on all counts. You need not send transport for me.”

“Nonetheless, my guards will accompany you back. I insist.”

Thor nodded his acquiesce, no more eager to draw out the argument between them now he had spoken his piece. Silence passed between them as the clouds shifted. The downpour increased again.

“Curse this rain!” Brynjar glared up at the sky as his men shifted in similar annoyance. One held their cloak ineffectively over Halstein’s head. Thor laughed as several pairs of eyes glanced at him.

“Do not blame me for this weather,” he said, “My hammer is at home and though this spear is well made indeed, it does not command the winds.”

Finally, Brynjar cracked a smile. “Would that you were more like your parents who could both magic us away to drier halls in an instant. Even your brother could conjure up some shelter for Asgard’s loyal guards.”

“But could he kill a boar on muddied ground without the aid of friends beside him?” Thor asked good naturedly.

Brynjar did not answer, his gaze fixed diplomatically ahead of him. So it was they traversed through the forest, all keen to get out of the storm at last.

~ ~ ~

Thor had just finished the arduous process of stitching the gash along the underside of his right forearm when his father entered his rooms. Asgard’s King still wore his formal robes for public events, his eyepatch gleaming gold where the light caught it. His expression, however, was one of blank severity.

The King moved further inside, scanning what parts he could see of his son. Odin’s expression did not change, but his chin lifted a little when his eye caught sight of the bruising around his son’s ribs. Thor watched the older Asgardian, wiping his hands dry as he did so.

“Has Eir seen to your injuries?” his father asked.

“The wounds are minor,” Thor replied. “I would not distract her or her healers from their more pressing tasks. I can tend these well enough alone.”

Odin frowned, his eye roving to take in the reddened water in the basin before his son and the bloodied strips of cloth scattered about. “What happened?”

“I found some lost children and slayed a boar,” Thor answered easily, “The same boar, I think, that recent rumours have been focused on.”

Odin drew in a breath, the corners of his mouth turning slightly down. “And what were you doing before, that the other happenings should follow when you were supposed to be instead at the opening of the new theatre by your mother?”

Thor pulled back a little, straightening as much as his ribs would allow. He was not eager to face his father’s anger, but nor was he craven enough to avoid it.

“Hunting. I was already late as I had lost track of time,” Thor admitted, “Though it was a fortunate mistake for I would not have otherwise found the first child.”

Odin pursued his lips. “You are fortunate that some good came of your mistake then. Your mother was unhappy you missed her speech and I should think you will make it up to her for showing such disrespect.”

“Of course,” Thor said, and his words were sincere.

His father inclined his head in acknowledgement of Thor’s words and an unspoken promise that he would hold his eldest son to them. A moment passed, then the King spoke again, “The children made it home safe?”

“Aye,” Thor replied, “Captain Brynjar and his men saw them off well enough.”

Odin inclined his head but began to pace. Back and forth the old king went as Thor surreptitiously probed the stiches he had made. They were not perfectly straight, though only few in number as the gash had proved less severe than he had feared in the forest, no doubt due to the straps of his vambrace and the cloth he had worn beneath. Still, there was pain. There was also the presence of his father, more off-putting than the pain.

The king stopped and his eye caught where Thor’s hand had been. For a moment his own hand twitched as though to reach out and hold, but the movement was quelled and short words took its place.

“I had not wanted you to fight that boar.”

“I had no choice when I came upon its lair,” Thor returned, the challenge in his voice more apparent than his father’s anger but equal all the same in strength.

“A situation I had wished to avoid by banning all from the Western part of the forest.”

“Why not send a party of warriors out to slay it sooner instead?”

Odin frowned. “I did. They could not find it.”

“Perhaps they should listen more to folktales,” Thor muttered. “It works well enough for children.”

“You would do well to cease your flippancy over this matter and those like it,” his father reproached, having heard him. “The creature flayed open the arm of one of my most experienced hunters.”

“Aye, and it almost did the same to me,” Thor returned, gesturing to the stitching on his wounded arm.

His father did not look pleased by this revelation. If anything, it only stirred his anger more. “You were a fool to fight it alone. It was a cruel creature,” he said, “Vicious and wild-”

“Intelligent too.” Thor met his father’s gaze uncowed. “It knew well enough how to dislodge a spear from a hunter’s grip and how to dislodge my grasp from wrestling with its tusks.”

“You wrestled the boar?” The question could have frozen Asgard’s own sea, disbelief dripping from each word. There was an undercurrent of an assumed implication beneath it all, and Thor knew well what it was.

The young warrior was not prone to cruelty, or vicious comments like his brother was and even his parents were. Yet, a ball of spite well up inside him all the same. It made his words blunt, and those words paled his father’s face.

“Aye, I did,” he said, “And I would do so again most readily should I ever find myself face to face with a boar’s great tusks. Perhaps I should invite one to Asgard’s next warrior games, or a bilgesnipe instead. There would be a sight none would forget!”

“Your impertinence is unbecoming, boy.”

“As is your grating voice, old man.”

Odin carried not Gungnir, but if he had he would have no doubt slammed the spear against the floor at the insult. He made to speak, but his son beat him there first.

“You think me incompetent, but I am not,” Thor said, “You banned all but warriors from traversing those grounds, and I did not break that ban.”

“And what if we had lost you against the boar?” Odin snapped, “What would Asgard do without its future king?”

Thor lifted his chin, his tone light and swift as he said, “There is always Loki.”

“This is no joking matter! You are reckless, Thor, and it will lead you to harm time and time again on the fields of war. What general would you make for your men if you carelessly ride into war and die? What king would you make if you are blinded by your rashness and are killed?”

“What king would I make if I were to leave a child alone to die for fear of dying myself in turn?” Thor shot back. “I am no coward and my skill in combat is renowned.”

Father and son stared at each other, brows heavily furrowed and lips drawn thin. Finally, Odin turned away.

“One day your skill will prove not enough and then you will learn the hard lesson that comes to all you think themselves invulnerable,” he said.

Thor cast his eyes down and grasped his injured arm unseen. He gave no reply and Odin swept from his room a moment later with as much flair as he had first entered with. His eldest son sighed. Had he been seated or leant against a wall he would have slumped. As it was, he let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling doing his best to think not much of anything.

It was still raining, and this helped for the sound drew past his windows and settled once more in his bones. As such, the Prince almost did not hear the footsteps that echoed beneath it, nor the soft rustle of a dress and the calm voice that followed.

“You missed my speech.”

Thor looked to his door and found his mother standing there still dressed in her own formal wear. He made to answer, to apologise no doubt clumsily, but she silenced him with a soft wave of her hand. Frigga drew close in silence, stepping around the basin of water and its stand to gaze up into the fair face of her son.

“Too busy saving children,” she said with a soft smile, her thumb stroking his cheek. “My little warrior.”

“I am little no longer,” Thor rumbled. Frigga laughed.

“A child is always little to their mother, no matter how big they grow,” she said. Her thumb brushed his cheek again. “They are always little to their father too, no matter how much they hide that truth behind anger and roughness.”

Her son looked away, eyes flitting to his window before fixing themselves on a point beyond her shoulder.

“He thinks me incompetent and a fool,” Thor said, “Rash and so unable to make any sound choice. Yet my success proves him wrong.”

Frigga hummed, the meaning behind her tone indecipherable. In lieu of an answer, her hand came down to hover over the colourful bruises that mottled Thor’s chest. She drew back, her eyebrows creasing in concern. The movement drew Thor’s gaze back to her, the tension in his eyes changing to a firmer thing at the other’s faint distress.

“Will you not let Eir and her assistants see to you?” his mother asked.

Thor gaze remained steady. “I would not add to their work unnecessarily. There are always those injured in a storm as big as this one shall be, and they have wounded enough already from the companies sent to quell the unrest in Vanaheim.”

“They will always have time for you,” Frigga said.

Thor smiled. “But this way they need not.”

The Prince turned to retrieve bandages to wrap his arm, but he had no sooner taken them up when smaller hands halted the progress of his own.

“Let me.” Frigga raised an eyebrow at Thor’s somewhat skeptical look. “You think me unable? I have been married to your father for over a thousand years and have had cause to bind the stubborn fool’s wounds more times than I care to count.”

Thor looked down, his expression one caught between contrition and amusement.

His mother took her time in bandaging his wound, pausing more than once to brush against his stitches, fingers gentle over their uneven sprawl. Frigga sighed when her task was done, her expression an unhappy one. “I should not have thought to see the day when a son of mine was forced to mend himself without the aid of others.”

Thor raised a hand to her cheek, cupping it as he met her eyes. “I am a warrior, mother, and it would be poor form indeed if I could not do my own stiches nor tend my own wounds.”

“Do not take the work of healers from them,” Frigga replied, “They are there to aid you and take much pride in doing so.”

Her son felt a jolt of frustration that his mother would berate him so when she would have instead lauded his brother for learning such a skill, but he quelled the feeling, dispelling it into the air with a breath. Silence stole over the room and the rain outside fell a little harder from the sky. 

Thor smiled and stretched as much as his sore ribs would allow. At his mother’s urging, he made to sit by one of the large windows, leaning against his mother as she stood by his side and braided his hair. In the space between long moments of quiet an apology was murmured and accepted in kind. More things followed about meaningless things, inquiries after speeches and failed hunts, and the pair parted with a press of foreheads and a smile from Frigga as she left.

The rain still fell, its own wild thing.

~ ~ ~

The passage of time found Thor unmoving from his seat by the window, long grown transfixed by the rain. It was falling heavier than ever, building up to a true storm, and the song of its sound pulled at every fiber in his being. So much so had it entranced him that he did not hear yet another person enter until their voice came close by his ear:

“Brother.”

Thor blinked, turned and winced as his hand went through the illusion Loki had cast of himself. From the doorway, Loki smirked at the other’s sheepish expression.

“Loki,” the elder greeted, “How fare you this eve?”

“Better than you, so I hear.”

Thor gave a smile and turned back to the rain, not much in the mood for his brother’s word games. The silence that followed did not last long.

“Father spoke to you?”

“We argued,” Thor admitted, “And did not part amiably.”

“That explains why his countenance is set in such a dour scowl, although it is set so on any regular day,” Loki mused. “No doubt he was unhappy you missed mother’s speech.”

“Aye.” Thor rubbed at his forehead. “Less happy, I think, that I had faced the boar supposedly terrorizing the west part of the forest.”

His younger brother took the chance to stride further into the room, making his way to a wall nearer to Thor and leaning against it. “Yes, I have heard too about your misadventure.”

“All ended well, the children safe, the foe vanquished.”

“And you, ever the hero in the misbegotten song.”

Thor frowned. “It is not as though I sought out such glory.”

His brother turned his head away, jaw clenched tight and knuckles white where they gripped his arms. There was an air of unspoken tension between them, spilling more from one end than the other.

“You are angry,” Thor said.

“Should I not be?” Loki answered bitterly with a wave of his hand. “You are absent from one of the most awaited events of this year and yet the people will adore you still while father sings your praise.”

“I do not know about receiving father’s praise, but I did have a fair reason for not attending,” Thor said.

“Oh, yes. I’m Thor, a great oafish brute that hunts murderous beasts unaided instead of attending my mother’s grand speech, and I receive no reprimand for it for I save small children in between,” Loki mocked. Then he looked away so that his eyes might not meet his brother’s. “Father would not be so generous to me.” 

“Would you have stopped as I did, gone as I did and fought as I did in returning late from a hunt?”

“I would never have been late.”

“Then why complain, brother?” Thor asked, smiling. “Our circumstances shall never tread the same path.”

Loki looked away, leaning back against the wall. “The rumours say you were injured.”

“I was,” Thor said, “Though I will have no scar to show for it once the injuries heal.”

“That is surprising given the state of your arm,” Loki said, an eyebrow rising as he flicked his eyes to the bandages that wound round the said appendage. The younger Asgardian paused, eyes taking in the bruising too. “And your chest. It looks like a hundred drunk horses trampled you.”

His brother grinned. “Yet, these are far from the worst wounds I have received.”

“Given the state you so often find yourself in upon your adventures, that is not a hard thing to believe,” Loki responded drily. He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I could heal the wounds for you now if you so desire.”

Thor thought this offer over, then shook his head. “Nay, brother,” he said, “I would keep the ache they cause, not magic them away. The boar fought well, and it is no shame to bear his marks when he shall shortly grace Volstagg’s vast stomach.”

Loki straightened sharply at his words, his expression becoming more closed than before. Thor’s heart sank at that, knowing he had mis-stepped but not knowing how.

Standing, the elder Prince sought out a tunic, wincing at the stiffness in his limbs and the ache as he pulled one on. Thus presentable, Thor grinned at his brother and gestured for him follow.

“Shall we make our way to join the feasting, brother?” he asked. “I can smell the meat roasting already.”

“I find that doubtful,” Loki retorted, but followed all the same, a softer light returning to his features.

Thor noted this with a small swell of relief. He barked a laugh and the two Princes strode side by side rather amiably as they made their way to the great hall.

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped I portrayed Thor well enough here – was struggling to get the right balance between recklessness and competence, arrogance and his inherently kind and good nature. It’s also my first time writing in this fandom, so I hope no one is too OOC or anything. 
> 
> Also, please forgive any medical inaccuracies, glaring plot issues or the fact the separate parts are a bit disconnected. This was originally intended as a shorter drabble but got away from me and I kind of lost the flow of things. The latter parts were also a bit more a character/relationship study than anything.


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